


Reality of Power

by dearxalchemist



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, BDSM themes, F/M, Fluff, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-08 21:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7773454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearxalchemist/pseuds/dearxalchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rain drops from the tip of his nose and he smiles when she lowers her gun. She doesn’t let him in just yet though. She keeps the door partially closed, her fingers on the grip of her gun loosen and she blows out a soft sigh before reaching up and pushing her bangs away from her forehead, she doesn’t know why he’s here or what he wants, she just simply steps aside because even without words he's commanding. It's a trait that thrills her, accelerates her heart, and makes her blood run hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s raining and he’s not sleeping, he’s standing in her doorway with his dark hair matted down to his forehead. Rain drops from the tip of his nose and he smiles when she lowers her gun. She doesn’t let him in just yet though. She keeps the door partially closed, her fingers on the grip of her gun loosen and she blows out a soft sigh before reaching up and pushing her bangs away from her forehead, she doesn’t know why he’s here or what he wants, she just simply steps aside because even without words he's commanding. He comes in and brings the rain with him, soaking up the rug she has by the door. He toes off his shoes without even asking, leaving them soaked by the door and then shrugs off the trench coat, not bothering to hang it. It drops to the floor and he steps over it before moving his hand down to the crook of her arm and hauling her up to the wall. She doesn’t fight him, not yet, simply lets him push her back against the wall, his free hand moving up to trace the edge of her jaw. His fingers are cool and wet from the rain but she doesn’t pull back just yet. She enjoys the feeling of them along her skin. His fingers are burned along the edges, calloused but no where near as harsh as her own. 

Years of hard work, of assembling and disassembling hard weaponry have made her hands rough. He doesn’t seem to care though, not when she drops the weapon on the side table and runs her own hands up through his wet hair. She pulls him close and there doesn’t have to be a single word uttered between them, his breath hitches and then her lips are on his. She kisses him hard, unyielding in her grip on his hair. He groans against her mouth and something inside snaps, breaks into thousands of little pieces as she wraps her other arm around his neck. His hands slide from the column of her throat down to the edge of her government issued t-shirt. It has no curve to it, so he flattens his palm over the side of her, enjoying the the view, watching as the clothing tightens over her figure, watching as her breathing picked up, stomach muscles jumping as his fingers clawed over the fabric, bunching it up in his grip. She’s wearing nothing under the shirt except standard issued undergarments. They’re not meant to be flattering but, she fills everything out just right. His fingers slide down over the edge of her thigh and he grips the skin there leaving behind red marks as the pads of his fingers drag down and then back up to the inside of her thighs. 

Riza gasps against his mouth, dragging her lips to the corner of his mouth, dragging over the corner of his lips down the edge of his jawline where he’s got the outline of a five o’clock shadow. She drags her lips down along jaw down to the strip of skin between his neck and dress shirt where she’s pulling the fabric away, exposing more of his muscled shoulder. They are a wreck together, his fingers find the elastic of her panties and he drags them partially down her legs, giving him just enough space to drag his fingers between her legs. Her breath catches against his shoulder and he presses his nose to her temple, lips pressing to the skin just before her ear. She was warm against him, nose filling with the scent of worn leather and gunpowder. Her teeth sank into his shoulder as he pushed a finger inside of her. 

His calloused fingers slid between her legs, drawing a pattern along the sensitive skin. His thumb pressed over her clit in one harsh motion, sending a jolt through her nerves. She arched her hips up against his hand in a silent cry for more. She drew her lips from his shoulder and pulled at the collar of his shirt, breaking the first button under her tugging. She smoothed her fingers along the exposed skin, dragging a pattern out over his chest, undoing the rest of the buttons along the way. He hummed against her, pushing a second finger inside, listening to her moan and watching her bite over her bottom lip. Electricity sparked across his skin when she drug her fingers down, it felt like raw alchemy only better. She was warm and wet, trembling against him and the wall, it didn’t matter that the clock read two in the morning or that she was starting to gasp louder. Her head fell back against the wall and she gasped for air, lips opening and closing for a moment in a silent request to urge him on. For a compliant, she has more leeway than most with dominants. 

He pushes her legs further apart, stepping in between them, exposing the tattoo on the inside of her thigh. The same tattoo that matched his own on the inside of his wrist. It was a crescent moon outlined in a deep vibrant red, orange slashed across the moon like a spark in a fire. He used to hate the idea of someone sharing the same mark as him. He used to toy with the idea that no one was like him, that no self-respecting military man had a soul mate out there. Let alone one that would be so subservient. One that would take his dominant personality so well, that would be willing to bend to him at the wave of his fingers. Riza excelled at both. 

He could still recall getting her medical file. All members of his squadron had to submit to physicals, that included listing their nature with the mark they were born with. Photos of their tattoos were submitted and when hers slid across his desk he had to hold himself exceptionally still. He kept the photo of her thigh in his desk, her tattoo matched his. Most military recruits were dominants, very few underlings were compliants, and most of them had their tattoos forcefully removed to cut away whatever feelings they had for the world outside of the state. Compliants were not fit for duty, they needed orders and release. It was dangerous to have them in power, they were more fit for battle. Riza though, she had passed all the tests. A compliant with a spirit like that of a dominant.

That had been years ago, now she was his, now she was threatening to fall to her knees but only when he let her. She’d stand for hours if he asked. Her muscles contracted around his fingers, squeezing him tightly as her thighs quivered. 

“Stop.” He ordered it and she snapped her lips together, squeezing her eyes shut as she willed herself to stop shaking. She pushed her hips back into the wall to still herself. He slowed his fingers, watching her come undone. Her cheeks flushed and she sucked in a sharp breath trying to keep herself still, her fingers tightening over his shirt. He opens his lips to order her again but she knows better, if he has to repeat himself she’ll be delayed what she deserves. Her fingers untangle themselves from his shirt and she presses her hands into the wall as his own leave her. Her lips part in a soft little gasp but she manages to control herself, pressing her back into the cool wall. Her skin is on fire, every bit of her is flushed a soft pink color and he’s in love. He’s in a type of love that can’t be defined. She doesn’t need to be ordered about, but she does it so well. She would follow him to hell and back again without a single order uttered from his lips. That tattoo bonds them in ways he can’t quite explain, but he knows she was made for him. 

Her breathing evens out and he stands back from her, locking the door to her home, leaving her against the wall. She doesn’t ask if she can move, she just stands there watching him with a cautious stare. He steps back from her and glances down to his shirt, “Undress me.” 

She narrows her gaze to him but moves, carefully, slowly. Her steps are measured and controlled as she pushes herself away from the wall and moves for him. Her fingers find the open collar of his shirt and she slips her thumbs down over the fabric slowly, going for the buttons she hadn’t quite undone. She finishes the buttons and lets her fingers move back up, and then pushes the shirt up and over his shoulders. Her bite is on his shoulder still, an impression of her teeth left on his skin. He glances down at the mark and raises both eyebrows before glancing back up to her, shaking his dark head, “That’s not permitted.” He slides his hand over the red mark and then across the space between them, taking her cheek in his palm. 

Without reason she leans into him, closes her eyes, rests herself there. She rests her head and heart in his hands, her trust in his bed. They are an odd pair, working together, working like a well oiled machine in a world where they can’t be together. He can’t fight the military law of anti-fraternization. 

He can however satisfy her need to listen and yield. 

“Sir,” She whispers as her hand lingers near his chest, not quite touching him. 

“You’re not finished,” and it’s true she’s not. She moves her hand down and efficiently goes to work on his belt. His pants are still soaked from the rain and she yanks the leather belt away from his waist, tosses it aside and goes for his button but he stops her with a hand on her wrist.

“Stop.” It’s an order, but they have rules, and if she doesn’t want to follow then she doesn’t have to. Roy will have Riza in her own way. She ceases all movements and her muscles tense, waiting for a repercussion. He’s never beat her, never taken her over his knee, though once he struck the back of her thighs with a thin rattan. The skin had turned a deep shade of red and she had shouted something along the lines of him burning away her tattoo. 

The cane slipped from his fingers and clattered to his bedroom floor. 

He didn’t want to burn the tattoo away from her flesh. Instead he had rolled her over and pulled up his sleeve, exposing the same tattoo on his forearm. They were tied together by the rules of the universe, tied together and yet, kept apart by the red tape of their jobs. Roy never struck her again, never asked anything more of her only giving her the demand that she keep her tattoo and never think of burning it off again. That had been months ago, months ago when he could barely look at her without thinking of that tattoo. 

“Come here.” She stepped closer and he wrapped an arm around her middle, dragging her inwards, pressing her close to him. He leaned in and kissed her, there was no need to hold her still, she stayed perfectly still against him. She was perfectly composed and warm, lips soft in comparison to her calloused fingers before he let himself half full control over the kiss. He kept her against him, dragging her down the hall of her own home, pushing her into the door frame of the bedroom. He pushed her against the jamb and slipped his hand down between, pushing her underwear the rest of the way off. She kicked them away and he caught her in another kiss. Her hair came down next, he sank his fingers into her ponytail, pulling the elastic away before letting it cascade down her shoulders. He let his fingers slip through her golden hair, dragging it down over her chest before letting his fingers drift down to her thighs. In one fatal movement he picked her up and she locked her legs around his waist.

“Finish what you started, Lieutenant.” He growls the words out against her throat, biting the soft skin there carefully, never hard enough to leave the evidence of their affair. She moans against him, dragging her hands away from his neck between them where she finds his waist, fingers unhooking his pants, pushing them down against his legs. Her thumb hooks into the elastic of his boxers and she pushes them down next. They’re clumsy but efficient, he orders her hands away and she moves them up, holding onto the crease of the doorjamb. She held so tight her fingers shook. She listens to orders. 

She listens to him, to every change in his breathing, to every sound that leaves his lips. She listens, she obeys, she exceeds expectations and he tells her to stay quiet. He orders her silence before he pushes inside of her, his hips fitting into hers like they’re long lost puzzle pieces finding one another. Her jagged edges fit his, her fingers falter on the door and he thrusts harder against her, promising bruises. She nearly loses herself, nearly loses the orders he’s given her. Her lips part but he moves his hand up, to her waist squeezing warningly. She’s hot and slick against him, he’s losing himself in the feel of her, loses himself in the squeeze of her thighs, in her silent pleas to carry on. 

“Riza,” He pants out her name, “Open your mouth.” 

There’s no hesitation, her lips part and he moves his hand up cupping the side of her face again. His thumb traces her bottom lip and he watches as she flicks her tongue over his calloused finger. He doesn’t chide her for the action, instead he asks her to speak, requests to hear her voice. He may be dominant but he will not force her to bend in directions she doesn’t wish to go. He doesn’t humiliate and he doesn’t command. He simply asks and she delivers. Her golden head tilts back against the frame of the door and she loses herself. He drives himself upwards, closer to her. He tightens his grip on her body and pulls her into him, wraps an arm around her waist. He holds her securely against him. Roy won’t let her fall, he would never intentionally harm her. 

A shuddering breath leaves her lips, it’s chased by a moan but she’s yet to lose her grip on the frame of the door. He hasn’t told her to let go yet, he hasn’t told her it’s okay to come. Her insides are on fire, her muscles are shaking and she rocking her hips down to meet his. They’re a shuddering mess and she’s starting to lose her voice, it cracks and he knows she’s close. He can tell by the way she lets her eyes flutter shut, golden lashes touching down on her cheeks. She’s a burning star ready to collapse in on herself. 

“Please…” It leaves her lips in the form of a desperate whisper. 

“Let go of the door.” He grounds out the words, not slowing his rhythm one bit. He slips his hand down from her jaw, holds her throat and then drags his hand down to the valley of her breasts, pressing his palm there, keeping her against the wall as she lets go. Her fingertips are a cherry red from holding so tight, and she moves them to him, claws through his short dark hair and then he’s gone. He barely has time to pull himself free, his come spilling over her thigh and he slips his hand down between her legs. Roy chases her to the finish line. She trembles against him and the door, legs falling, weight crashing in on him. He holds her up, pulls her in and lets her bury her face in the crook of his neck. He pulls his free hand up from her chest and drags his fingers through her snarled hair. She is all limp muscles and soft panting in his arms, giving herself to him in the most uninhibited ways. 

“We’re going to bed.” He tells her softly, moving his hand from the crown of her head down to the back of her neck. He lets his palm fall on her neck, massaging the skin there softly before carrying her out of the wall, to her bedroom. The clock in her bedroom reads closer to three in the morning now and the dog is still where she left him, asleep on the end of the bed, laying on his back with four paws in the air. Roy cocks an eyebrow but lets it go, whispering something of needing a better watchdog. Riza snickers against his throat and presses a kiss there.

Her lips leave a soft impression before she mutters a sleepy, “Thank you for taking care of me.” He strokes her head again before pulling back the covers fully and carefully laying her in bed. She doesn’t fight him, doesn’t cling to him. Riza simply lets him lay her down and she grabs her own blanket, not waiting for him to coddle her in anyway. She may be a compliant but she is not useless. He lets his fingers linger in her hair before he pulls his hand away and kisses her forehead.

“You’re to dream of me.” He muses softly and she swats at him. He catches her hand and squeezes her fingers, brushing his lips over the tips of them before he leaves her home. He locks the door behind him, shrugging back into his wet trench coat, ignoring the way his heart is pounding in his chest. It’s beating like a war drum, loud and clear. It’s a wonder no one else around can hear it. He ignores the primal need to go back and climb into her bed. 

The pull of the tattoo is strong, but the military is stronger.


	2. Chapter 2

He holds her file carefully with his rough fingers tracing over the sharp edges of the paper, wearing it down to nothing. He smooths his thumb over the lip of the folder, opening it up for what seems like the millionth time in an hour. Roy does this at least once a month, when she takes leave and has to submit to physical testing. She’s a compliant therefore her body is constantly monitored by the higher-ups of the military. Compliant is soft word for submissive. They’re born this way, born weak willed and begging for a constant state of order and release. Riza though, is unlike any compliant he’s ever seen. She has a tattoo on her thigh that matches the one on his wrist. She also is resilient and strong, has the spirit of a free woman, but every once in awhile she becomes victim to what she was born as. He takes care of that though without the military knowing.

He hides her file back in his desk and waits for the day to end. 

She bends for no one but him.

Of course the military doesn’t know his tattoo matches hers. They walk a dangerous line. He has to keep her stable, release the pressure in her veins when her body calls for it. Once a month the military brings in a set of dominant doctors. They take care of the compliant ones with what Riza likes to call _‘routine maintenance.’_ Only he’s seen the red marks on the back of her legs when she comes home from the physicals. Sometimes they leave welts on her and it makes his temper flare so bright that he threatens to burn down her small town house with a flick of his wrist. Her fingers on his wrists though always stop him and he eases down onto the bed with her, carefully smoothing antiseptic across her lower back. The doctors are not gentle, they are simply efficient like everyone else in uniform. Despite having Roy at her hand, she still must go to the physicals. It’s a requirement that she must meet to keep her rank beneath him. 

He allows her to go to them, kisses her hard behind closed doors before they call her name and he orders her not to come until _he_ says she can. 

She always returns the same. Red faced and red skinned, her breathing is always uneven and he knows it’s from her holding in her release. She walks stiffly back to her desk and sits for the rest of the afternoon, back to work behind the massive desk. Later, when they take separate routes to her home, he peels the uniform away to begin damage control.

He treats her skin with calloused hands, smoothing antiseptic cream across her thighs and back. She shifts and sighs, he doesn’t order her to sit still. He simply lets her lay on the bed in her own skin, free of the confines of clothes and takes care of her. His hands start slow, rolling down her shoulders with his scorched fingers. She shifts and buries her golden head down into the blankets, folding her arms under her chin to settle down. A soft hum leaves her lips and he carries on, smoothing the cream further down the deep red marks. He doesn’t like other dominants giving her orders, he doesn’t like the way they treat her. It’s uncaring and dangerous, he worries she’ll catch an infection or worse. His palm slips down the dip in her back and he pauses for a moment, letting his thumbs catch in the dimples just below the small of her back. Her skin is an angry red and coated now in a thick cream that smells of rosemary and mint. It must be soothing because she’s relaxed against the bed, her muscles have gone slack and she has ceased all her squirming. 

Roy’s fingers dip lower and he watches as she tenses for a moment. He traces the red line of a welt down the curve of her rear and shakes his head softly. This was done with a strip of bamboo. He know the tell-tale signs of a good cane. Her welt is bright red and raised, she’s lucky they didn’t break the skin. If they had made her bleed, there would be a piece of the medical ward burned to the ground. She jumps when he digs his nail into the bottom curve of the welt.

“Sir!” She shifts and he carefully lets the pressure up, soothing his calloused thumb over the spot. 

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs softly leaning over and pressing a kiss to the welt. The tip of his nose brushes the underside of her cheek, and he presses another kiss to the curve of her. She sighs and relaxes. He watches as she sinks further into the mattress, enjoying the way she lets go around him. A compliant lives a hard life, never truly allowed to relax until a dominant claims them. It’s harder when two compliants or dominants share the same tattoo, but they are different. He believes they’re made for each other. After years of standing as a non-believer, holding his head high in the military, she walked into his squadron and made a mess of him. 

Roy’s mouth trails up the curve of her ass and he drags the tip of his tongue over a particularly thick welt. No doubt she was struck double for not bending to their will. His fingers slip down her thighs, brushing over her tattoo. With a careful touch he slips a finger over the soft edges of her folds. She’s hot and wet to the touch. He smirks against her back, pressing a finger further into her, “Tell me about the physical.” 

It’s not a request. It’s an order, but she can defy him if she wants. Of course defying him has consequences and not all of them are good, and if she chooses not to be with him then he will let her go. There’s no need to hold her against her will. His dominant nature thought fits so well with her compliant needs. 

“Same as always,” She breathes softly, closing her eyes tightly as she backs her hips up a bit, edging up on to her knees. He gently pushes a hand over her back and lowers her back to the mattress. He crooks his finger up and she gasps.

“May I have details?” He asks again, voice a little sharper as he pushes his hand harder over the red marks along her back and adding a second finger. The woman under him squirms and she nods, dropping her forehead to her folded arms. 

“They takes us to the medical bay and strip us down.” Her voice is quiet and it only wavers a little when he slides both of his fingers out, just to push them back in. It’s a slow build that is positively agonizing. She doesn’t moan though and he chalks it up to her strong will as he lets his other hand crawl up her spine. He walks his fingers up the ridge of her back just to enjoy the way her skin prickles with goose flesh.

“Go on,” He encourages her with a soft tone this time letting his thumb graze her clit. 

A soft moan leaves her lips, cutting into her words as she backs her hips up again. He instantly pulls his fingers away from her, leaving her empty and unfulfilled. A sharp smack hits the inside of her thigh, right on the tattoo and she lets out a soft gasp, “Down.” 

Another order. She hesitates and then slowly lowers her hips back down to the mattress. She lays flat now with her hands away from her head, fingers gripping at the soft blankets. Her knuckles are bloodless and she presses her cheek on to the soft cover looking at him, “Yes.”

He nods his dark head, “Yes.” 

Riza closes her brown eyes and goes on with her story, “They make us stand close to these bars.” The bars are medical steel anchored to the wall. She grips on to them and holds a position while they beat the tension out of her muscles, they beat the need out of her ruthlessly and uncaring. It’s all military efficient, none of it is caring or safe. He wants her safe, always safe. His fingers skate back up her thighs and he watches as she spreads her legs a little, backing up a bit for the chance to feel him, “Then they start the strokes.”

“Do you keep count?”

“No.”

“Keep going.” He carefully slips his fingers back against her, rubbing his calloused fingertips along the sensitive skin. She shivers and continues on with the physical.

“They go until we lose grip.”

“Did you come?” He pushes two fingers inside without warning and she moans shaking her head vigorously at his question. Her face turns a dark shade of crimson and she buries herself down into the covers. She pushes her hips back into his hand, rocking back into him. He lets her, he lets her grind against his fingers when he crooks them upwards. The soft skin between her thighs is slick now, she’s soaking the covers underneath her. 

He lets a third finger stroke along the soft skin of her labia and she shivers, finding her voice finally as she carries on with her story, “No, no. I didn’t. I was told not to.” 

His pride swells and he lets his thumb slip over her clit once more. She yelps softly and settles back into the feel of him, “And when we lose our grip we have to kneel.” His pride deflates a bit, he didn’t look at her knees when he came into her home, helping her with her uniform. 

“For how long?” He drags his fingers back and forth, pushing into her again. She shivers and moans, losing herself for a moment. Roy lets her push her hips back and he helps push her to the edge. He presses his thumb over her clit again, grinding hard against her. Riza is a mess, her breathing is uneven and she’s rocking her hips into his wrist, pushing hard against him. Her lips part, she wants to finish and he debates with himself for a fraction of a minute whether or not to let her have this. She moans out a broken version of his name and he pushes a third finger into her, enjoying the way her muscles tighten around him. She clamps down against him, rocking hard and shouting against the blankets. She pulls on them so hard the sheets come off the corners of of the mattress. He pushes her off of the edge and allows her to ride out the aftershocks of her orgasm against his hand. When she comes back down he pulls his fingers free and gently nudges her on to her back. She winces for a moment, rolling onto the welts is never comfortable, but she complies with him because it’s who she is. Besides, Roy would never hurt her.

He holds his hand up and drags a finger over his lips, letting her watch as he pushes them into his mouth, sucking the flavor of her away. Riza’s breath catches in her throat and she flushes an even darker shade of red, watching him through thick lashes as he drags his tongue over his palm in an absurd way. 

“How are your knees?” He asks her softly, dragging his gaze down from her flushed face to her soft heaving chest and then down the slender slope of her stomach. She shifts under his gaze, restless and wanting, her legs spreading a bit so he could fit between them.

“They are fine, sir.” She murmurs and he drags his gaze down her hips, over the tattoo of her thigh to her knees. They are red and bruised. He doesn’t like her looking like this for other people. A sharp pang cuts across his chest and he moves both hands down, capturing her left knee with both of his palms. He runs his thumbs over her knee cap and she hums softly. He repeats the action on the other knee, making a mental note to get her ice afterwards.

“They don’t look fine.” He murmurs softly and she frowns at him. He carefully lets go of her knee, “Do you want me to stop?” 

At anytime Riza can tell him no. Riza can ask him to stop and he will stop everything for her, even time if he could. He would stop the Earth from spinning if she begged it of him. In the middle of the night he often asks himself who is really in control. She shifts against him, knee brushing his side as she pulls him in with a leg hooked behind his back, “No.”

He drags his palms up from her knees to her thighs, pushing them apart to make room for him. She gasps and he leans in kissing the tattoo on the inside of her thigh. Riza hums and he smooths the flat of his tongue over the mark. Her fingers itch and he reaches up, tapping her wrist softly with his free hand. It’s a signal that she can move freely for now. Her legs shift up and she presses her thighs tighter around him. Her fingers card through his dark hair and encourages him on as he leans forward and drags his tongue over the length of her cunt. 

Riza moans and he happily obliges her. He lets the tip of his tongue drag back and forth over the sensitive folds. She shudders and he leans up, eating her out like a starving man, until she coats his tongue and the inside of his mouth with the taste of her. Everything about the woman under him is intoxicating. He presses closer, nose buried in the softly trimmed curls between her legs. She rocks up and he pulls his hands on to her hips, holding her up. He keeps going, pushing her to the edge once more. She’s slick and sensitive to his touch. He drags his tongue once more over her clit and takes a quick nip at it with his teeth. Her fingers tighten in his hair, she pulls hard and he drives her forward. She shudders under him, her second orgasm is messy and he lets her tighten her thighs around his head. He gives her one last, long lick and then slowly pulls away, pushing her legs back down. 

Riza’s out of breath, panting softly with his name leaving her lips. She is beautiful beneath him. Pink lips and red skin, golden hair and deep brown eyes. His heart skips a beat and his thumb brushes over the tattoo again. She’s beautiful and she’s his. His thumb moves once more and she reaches down, touching his wrist carefully. She turns his hand over and lets her own fingers touch his tattoo.

A shiver runs down his spine and he leans over her, lips finding hers. She can taste herself on him and moans against his mouth. His lips are gentle against hers. He doesn’t nip here, he simply lets his tongue brush over her plush lower lip and she opens up to his small request. Everything between them is an order, but she doesn’t have to take them. He gives her the choice to comply and it’s in her nature to do so. Her tongue touches his and he smiles into the kiss, dominating it with his tongue pushing over her own. Roy pulls his hand away from her hold and lets his hands skim up the sides of her body. This is how they end their night. He’s hard and wants nothing more than to take her again, push her into a third orgasm, but her body is tired and red. He feels her muscles jump when he traces over more red lines. They no doubt beat her hard, twice over, waiting for her to release to them. His orders held firm, she didn’t come for them so she bore their marks. 

He breaks the kiss and presses one to each cheek, then kisses over her eyelids, urging her to close them. His lips are soft, ghosting over her skin. Everything is soft and precise. She sighs against him and rolls onto her side, taking the pressure off of her back. He lets her, kissing the column of her neck and dragging his lips over her shoulder. She smells like menthol and rosemary. Her back is still very red. Tomorrow she will have bruises and he will ice them for her, before kissing each one. 

“Riza,” He murmurs softly into the crook of her neck and she hums softly. He carefully lowers himself next to her, unbuttoning his white shirt as he goes, tossing it over the edge of the bed. He stays in his pants as he cuddles up behind her. She backs up against him until she’s pressed flush against his chest and sighs softly. Her hips press back into his and he has to take a deep breath to resist the urge to grind into her. She’s still naked and soft against him. It wouldn’t take much coaxing, he could lift her leg and slip inside of her. He knows she’s still slick and inviting -- she can go for another round he thinks just before she yawns.

“Roy,” She sounds exhausted, a yawn pulls at her words and he knows he has at least another minute or so with her. 

He leans in to press his lips to the back of her neck, “Leave the military.” 

She stiffens against him, suddenly alert. He swears he can hear her heart stop dead in its tracks. The woman in his arms doesn’t move. He wraps an arm around her waist and anchors her to the bed, anchors her to him. He doesn’t want to scare her off but after two years of this, two years of watching her return home from monthly physicals, has worn him down. The anti-fraternization laws prohibit her from entering a relationship with him. The world doesn’t know about their tattoos but it’s only a matter of time. Besides, he wants nothing more than to stand on a stage and show the superiors his mark, show the world he belongs to the compliant woman against him. Watching her come home from military physicals makes him sick to his stomach. Her welts are still hot to the touch when he drags his fingers over them and he makes a vow to let her escape all of that, to give her the chance at happiness with him. The chance of something safe and meaningful, something with soft boundaries and unending devotion. She doesn’t answer him right away. Instead he listens as she draws in a soft breath then shifts back against him with tentative words leaving her lips, “Is that an order?” 

He closes his eyes and shakes his head, pressing his lips once again to the back of her neck, “No, God no.” He repeats the words softly like a mantra. There are no orders with these words, “It's your choice.”


	3. Chapter 3

They were never close. They never could be. He was the dominant born father who burned off his own Soulmate tattoo after the death of his wife; raised a compliant daughter with the overbearing commands his nature forced on her. She can still remember the day he told her to get down, the day he told her to hold still -- don’t move, the needle pushing into her back, scraping over the skin. It lasted hours and burned for days. Berthold Hawkeye put his notes in her skin and she took it like a good daughter -- like a good submissive born would. He had watched her take it all with her hands curled into tight fists, knuckles going white. He knew then that she would never be a dominant, but it didn’t mean she would bend for the world. He had made her skin thicker and even when he took on an apprentice, he had kept up her own training. He forced her to work harder, aim higher, reload faster. She had bird’s eye when it came to working weapons. He did all he could though to separate her from the young man learning his tradecraft. Flame Alchemy was not something taken lightly, he had always told the woman who shared the mark with him that he would teach their children. Then she left him for the afterlife, leaving him with nothing but a small girl with brilliant blonde hair and a submissive streak. Compliants were not meant for the power of the fire. So he took on an apprentice. 

A young man had come to him, unruly dark hair and eyes that matched, begging for a taste of knowledge. A taste of power really, he could see the way Roy strived for it. Then the boy had enlisted and his hopes of teaching the flame to someone else was dashed. That is until the blood started appearing in his tissues. Each chest shaking cough brought more and more of it to his lips. His mouth was lined with the taste of copper. Berthold hid it for as long as he could, watching as Mustang attempted to charm his daughter. He almost let it happen too, until he had see Roy’s tattoo. On the inside of his left wrist there was the mark, it was that same crescent moon, same slice of red through it. His stomach fell, he felt like had swallowed a ball of lead as Riza smiled and laughed at the flirtatious antics of his apprentice. 

It had to stop. 

He did everything to keep them apart. Ordered Riza away, kept her out while he trained the young boy. Trained him until his health began the final declined. When breathing became harder he didn’t want the leave the world behind, leave Riza unprotected. He gave up the last bit of his notes in the middle of a coughing fit. Losing blood all over the front of Roy’s sweat soaked t-shirt. His apprentice held on to him, listened to him, promised him he would pass on the apologies to Riza. Riza who he wanted to see again, Riza who apparently held the last piece of the puzzle to her father’s work. 

When Berthold had told him he hadn’t expected her to unbutton her shirt. He hadn’t expected to see such a large tattoo across the expanse of her back. The ink was faded, old. Berthold must have given it to her young. He knew, even back then that Riza was a submissive. The way she stood gave off the appearing of a dominant personality. She would square her shoulders and tighten her jaw, but under all that facade was a tempered soul begging to be given orders. Of course when he had seen the tattoo on her back, he hadn’t seen the one on the inside of her thigh. She hadn’t seen his either. Berthold had made him cover it up on day one of his training. Berthold had told him the Soulmate’s tattoo would only distract him. He had his whole life to match the tattoo to someone, but only a short time to learn the Flame Alchemy. 

The day after Riza buried her father, he took the notes from her back and then she begged for him to burn her. He did it and she cried out in a sound that jarred his bones. He left her shortly after and she joined the military to support him, she was a compliant through and through. Due to her nature she had to have extra training in the military, she had to submit to physicals every month. When they gave her file to him, he had held himself very still. 

The photos of her back were mostly blurred, pieces of her father’s notes gone, burned away. The photo of her legs though had caused his heart to stutter around in his chest, her tattoo matched his and he felt it was something clandestine that Berthold had kept from him. Anger had burned across his nerves. The old man had despised his decision to go into the military, the man had rejected Riza so easily in his work. He had always wondered why she never learned the art of the flames, but it had become apparent in their relationship. 

They were never really close at all.

Now though, now he had her in his arms. There was no need to put on a flirtatious smile, but he did it anyways, pressing his lips onto her cheek, watching as she slowed the stirring of her spoon in the coffee mug she held to. 

“Tell me,” He mutters softly against her skin. Her kitchen smells like fresh brewed coffee and toast, it’s warm and dimly lit. Dawn is just around the corner, the sun will spill through at any moment and tell them to go to work. He moves a hand up and threads his fingers through her hair. He lets it run between his fingers like little golden rivers and marvels at the softness of it. Riza doesn’t move, she’s trained too well to lean into him like a helpless puppy. Roy reaches the end of her long hair and lets his fingers drop to the black short-sleeve turtle neck she wears, brushing his thumb over the curve of her breast. She sucks in a sharp breath with coffee colored eyes flicking from her mug to his face. He gives her that flirtatious smile, “Have you thought about your choice?” 

The toaster pops up with breakfast but neither one of them move for it. Instead he watches as she lets her brows furrow, lips purse and then she parts those lips and sighs, shaking her head. Doubt floods his system and he feels a dull ache in his chest. Riza sets her coffee cup down and for some reason it sounds like a nail being driven into a coffin. The sound echoes in his ears. 

“Sir,” She says the word so softly and he closes his eyes because this is the end of what they have. He can feel it the air between them becoming thicker and thicker with tension. She sucks in a sharp breath and her breasts press against his linger hand and he smooths his palm over the curve of her, molding himself to the front of her. She doesn’t shy away or ask him to stop. She simply lets him move, enjoying the comfort of it all, “I joined the military for you.” 

The way she says it makes him want to shake her. He lets his palm slide down her side. He grips at her turtleneck, the fabric bunches between his burned knuckles, “No you joined for you, you joined to defy everyone and everything you are.” His words are hushed but have a hard edge to them. He can feel her stiffen under his hold. Her muscles tense and he wants to order her to relax, but the command doesn’t leave his lips, “I wish you never had to fight in Ishval.”

She pulls back, presses herself tight to the cabinet behind her as if she can wedge more room between their bodies. Her eyes cut away from him and she turns her head down. She still has nightmares about the war, still can smell the burning flesh -- still can see the whites of her enemies eyes when she squinted into the sniper’s scope. Her breathing picks up and he moves his hand up from her side, cups her cheek and turns her head upwards. He is excruciatingly gently with her. His movements are slow and measured, “Sir, my joining of the military was for you, for my father, for myself. I’m not just a compliant. I’m not just a weak will...” 

Riza finally looks up at him through light colored lashes. Her eyes are a deep dark brown and endless. He could drown in them if he let himself. He watches as she moves her hand up and brazenly takes his wrist. Riza rarely moves against him. She rarely tells him no, rarely shows signs of defiance. Her own fingers are calloused from years of gun work. She has the best aim of any man or woman he’s ever met. It’s like her spirit talks to metal, making it bend and curve to her will, she is talented and hardworking, she is breathtaking and courageous. He lets her stroke his tattoo. The tip of her nail traces the outline of the crescent moon and his breath catches as she smooths her thumb over the red line cutting through it, “I’m not ready to leave the military yet.” 

He swallows hard and he can hear his pulse thundering in his ears. He doesn’t want this answer. He wants to tell her to change her mind, order her about, make her listen to his reasoning. She doesn’t belong in the military, she belongs next to him at home buried deep in his sheets. He parts his lips to reply but she hushes him, her hand moves from his tattoo to his lips. She presses a calloused finger over his mouth and shakes her head carrying on with her previous words.

“I have to keep you safe still. You still have so far to go and I will be with you until I can’t move. I won’t listen to you if you order me away.” She adds the last part of that with a particularly sharp tone. Riza’s hand drops from his lips and she holds his wrist up to him, gripping along the tattoo as if to prove a point. She licks over her bottom lip and her words are rushed and breathy, “I will burn this tattoo off too if I must. If you have to, if I ask you to.”

He shakes his head and she pulls on his hand, draws him down and presses her mouth over his. He’s stunned in the forwardness of her actions. She takes him by such surprise he doesn’t even get to close his eyes before she’s pulling away from him carefully untangling herself from him, disengaging herself as if she’s nothing more than a living weapon for him, one made just for him. She keeps claiming she's going to watch his back, keep him safe but Roy wants to know who will keep her safe. 

“I won’t do it.” Roy whispers, “I couldn’t do it the first time. Why would you think I would ever consider it again?”

**\------------**

The first time he saw her tattoo outside of the military file they had been on a mission outside of Central. They had been held up for days in a military safe house, stalking the rumors of a rebel group on the verge of an attack. Riza had skipped on the physical before they had left. Over a week had passed on the mission and she had started becoming uneasy, shifting left and right, unable to hold a steady position. Then they had been in the field and she had found herself a nest, scope on their backs, watching from a distance. He had her communications link in his ear, he could hear the way her breathing picked up, the panic that settled in when a child of the rebels had threatened him. She was reliving the war all over again. The tension was wound so tight it was strangling the life out of her.

It had been enough to set her teeth on edge, her bones rattled even when he ordered her to stand down. The rebels had taken the opportunity to unleash a surprise attack on the military squadron. There was an eruption of gunfire and he had told her to stand down. Her finger had itched over the trigger, the compliant nature keeping her still as the dead. Then he snapped and there was a plume of smoke, a slash of fire right in the air. She had seen it all through the sniper’s scope, watching him work the flames like her father had. Her heart skipped and beat and then he ordered her to shoot. 

So she shot. She killed. She shook and he ordered her to turn over her rifle when they made it back to the safehouse. Riza had practically paced a hole in the floor, waiting for the reprimand that would come with hesitating on orders in the field. Even with the danger of rebels she had hesitated in following the Colonel and even though this time they had all come out relatively unscathed, there was always a chance that next time they wouldn't. 

Roy eventually sent the other two soldiers out for guard duty. He kept silent to her until her pacing bothered him. He held a hand out in a motion to make her stop and she did. The ever compliant Riza Hawkeye stopped in her tracks. She chewed on the inside of her cheek wanting to ask him to speak to her, but she didn’t. She swallowed the words down and folded her arms in front of her. After a few more silent minutes he stood and shrugged off his uniform jacket. 

“Go to my room. Take off that uniform. I’ll be up soon.” 

Soon wasn’t a time frame. Soon was just a false promise. The word made her skin itch as she climbed the stairs to her private room. Riza shrugged off her uniform, hanging it up with gentle precision before unbuckling her pants and folding them with the perfect crease. She disengaged all of her holsters, hanging them up one by one. He came in then. The door swung open behind her, squeaking on it’s hinges and she turned to face him, snapping to attention in her white underwear and short-sleeved turtleneck. A faint blush spread across the tops of her cheeks and her eyes drifted down over his form. He wore that white button up and dark slacks, he looked comfortable with no gloves on and something long and slender in his hand. 

“Tell me Lieutenant,” His voice lacked the usual charm he always tried to bespell her with. He stepped further into the room, taking his time with a gentle ease. Each step was slow and measured, he enjoyed the way she counted his moves. After a moment he stopped in front of her. The smell of warm leather and sweat clung to her, along with the scent of gunpowder and oil. She tilted her blonde head up at him and he moved the cane up in his burned fingers, gently tapping the tip of it to her lower lip, “Why did you skip the physical before you came on the mission?” 

Her lips parted and then snapped shut as if cutting off any chance at a response. His hands twitch and she wonders vaguely if the man her father trained all those years was going to strike her down for hesitating. He doesn’t though and she’s filled with a sense of relief. Her shoulders sagged a bit, “I had a personal moment Sir. Won’t happen again in the field.” 

Another moment of silence ticked by and then there was the sudden smack of something small and hard against her leg. The sudden attack was hot against her skin, blood rose to the surface making her skin a dark and angry red. She gasped looking up at him in horror.

“You didn’t answer the question, Lieutenant. Why did you skip the physical? Your physical abilities affect this team. If you don’t taken care of, the rest of us are put into danger much like we were today.” Even though he’s scolding her, his tone is gentle, understanding and yet he pushes her. He pushes her for an answer she can’t quite give him. 

The cane strikes her leg again and she backs up against the footboard of the bed. Another gasp left her lips and she hung her head down for a moment, shuddering as the air left her lungs, “The physicals are painful, Sir. They’re not release. They are…” She loses the words and looks up at him. The physicals are methodical and torturous. They are unsafe, they don’t provide a good release. She has hundreds of reasons why she skipped the physical. Only as a compliant in the military it could cause her to lose her Lieutenant status. She could go back to being a lowly private. He seems to read her mind though. The ever charming Colonel nods to her, his dark hair is made even messier when he drags his hand through it and then moves a hand to her cheek. He strokes the skin there with calloused fingers and then gently lowers his hand to her shoulder in a comforting manner, “I’m going to have to reprimand this you know that right? I’m going to have to show proof that you complied.”

Her knees shake and her heart flutters with excitement, but her head shakes no for a moment, “I don’t know, I just slipped up. It was a mistake. It won’t happen again, Sir.” She moves to salute him but he gently catches her wrist and turns it over in his hand, leaning in and kissing the soft skin. It’s just a simple action, a slight touch of affection that burns in her skin. Before joining the military she had kept her distance from her father’s apprentice, watching him from a distance, catching his smile and then Berthold passed away and the smiles stopped. 

“Sir…” She breathes out and her cheeks flush a darker shade of red before she nods to him. He turns her around carefully, has her kneel on the edge of the mattress, hands flat on the covers just to watch her knuckles turn white. It’s a sight he puts to memory, wanting to keep it. Berthold’s daughter shares his mark, shares his dream of pushing forward to make a difference. She keeps him upright but right now he keeps her sane, keeps her frustration at bay. 

He orders her to count, circles the bed and before he can strike her with the thin bamboo cane in his hand, he sees the tattoo. It matches the one on his left wrist under the thick bandages he puts on every morning. It’s the same tattoo as the one in her file and he almost believed if he never saw it, then he could cut that piece of him away. 

He strikes her anyways. The rattan in his hand collides with her thigh and she stiffens. Her muscles jerk and he pauses, running the sharp end of the rattan against the welt. She finally spills out the number, “T-two.” 

 

He gets to five and she is barely able to hold her head. Her skin is an angry red, welts are starting to form. She shakes and he swallows down his excitement at seeing her in such a state. His fingers tighten on the cane and then he asks the million dollar question, “Why did you join the military? You’re compliant.” 

Her head bows and he knows she is swallowing his words whole. The shame of being compliant in the military is a heavy burden to hold. Compliants were low foot soldiers, ordered around to doing meaningless tasks, forced first into battle while Dominants took rank. 

“I don’t have to be! You can take this tattoo off of me. I’ve seen what you can do! I know you can do it, you did it to my back, please…” She pleads with him, her legs are a dark shade of red and she’s shaking, pushing herself up higher onto her knees, trying to keep herself from falling helplessly into the mattress. 

Her plea to take the mark off of her thigh struck him hard in the chest. She wanted rid of the tattoo, the one everyone deemed weak. It wouldn’t change her nature though. Getting rid of the tattoo would only keep her from finding a soulmate. It wouldn’t get rid of the compliant status, it wouldn’t get rid of the genetics she shared with half of the population. 

Roy drops the cane and reaches for his wrist. The clatter draws her around and he’s got his teeth on the bandages he’s expertly wound around his hand. The fabric rips and there’s his tattoo for the world to see. A strip of pale skin exposed to the world, his tattoo looks like hers. They’re destined. 

He held his breath and her soft sob echoed around the room. 

Roy ended up drawing her a bath, sitting behind her and stroking her hair, stroking her thighs. He attempted to ease the welts away with his calloused hands, even iced her bruises. Their relationship behind doors changed that mission. When they returned to Central, he filed his detailed report, leaving out her breakdown. He intentionally left out her skipping of the mandatory physical to keep that afternoon burned in his memory.

**\------------**

Riza slipped from his grasp and set her mug in the sink. She went to work cleaning it, putting her back to him. She was already dressed for the day, hair still damp from the shower they shared. She smelt like warm coffee and soap and he stood there like a child with his arms crossed in disappointment. Her choice to leave the military -- she wouldn’t take it.

He ground his teeth together and fought the urge to order her to look at him. He stood in her kitchen watching her work, watching her muscles move under the black turtleneck and he found himself even more annoyed now that she was rejecting the chance to leave behind the structured life of their work all to propel him forward. The military was exceptionally unsafe for compliants and yet here she was, staying in the field with her nose to the grindstone. 

The water shut off and he blinked, watching as she turned to face him with a rag in her fingers. She dried her hands slowly and tilted her head to him with a soft look of wonder as if she was trying to get inside his head. 

“Tell me,” He lets his eyes skip from the crown of her head to the shape of her mouth. His hands move from their crossed position to his pockets where he can actively stretch his fingers without looking jittery. 

“Tell you what Roy?” His name sounds so exceptional on her tongue that he stutters around for a moment, heart squeezing in his chest, he’s a lovesick man and he prays that it doesn’t show. 

“Tell me you’ll think on the choice longer. Tell me you’ll consider it a little bit more, the chance to leave it all for you, for me. We could be together. We could do something about this.” He holds his wrist up again just to emphasize his point.

Her lips part and Roy thinks she looks like she’s about to fight him so he holds his palm up in a stopping motion. Riza closes her mouth, brows furrowing for just a moment, frustration flashes in her eyes, “Sir…”

Roy shakes his dark head, “Just consider it.” He watches her hands tighten around the kitchen towel so tight that her muscles shake and her knuckles go pale. She shifts her weight foot to foot and he can see the tension winding up along her frame.

“Is that an order?” It’s the first time he’s ever heard her grind the words out of her mouth. They sound so forced, tinged with anger. Anger that he keeps pressing the subject, anger because he doesn’t seem to accept her reasons. 

“Yes!” He shouts the word so loud that it echoes in the kitchen and wakes the dog. Hayate scrambles out of the kitchen and runs for his small dog bed in the living room. Riza doesn’t flinch, she just looks down at the floor as a sign of accepting the order. His ego is a monster looming over his shoulder, it fills the room with a power that dances over her muscles. Roy Mustang is a dominant force to be reckoned with. Her knees shake and she thinks she can’t take the pressure anymore. Only before she can move he speaks again and she hesitates, “Don’t go.” 

Her muscles freeze and she glances up through thick bangs. A rebellious streak runs through her and she shifts a foot and then glances at the clock. If they don’t go their separate ways soon then they will be late. Riza takes a step back and moves, stepping around him. Surprise floods his system and he holds a hand out to catch her from evacuating the kitchen.

“Lieutenant,” His voice is full of a soft concern, “I believe I asked you not to go.”

She stops against his arm and he resists the urge to curl his arm around her slender form. He resists the urge to push her against the countertop and run a hand between her legs. He watches as she strains her muscles, urging herself to go against his orders.The muscle in her jaw clenches and he reaches up, thumb stroking the curve of her cheek. When she flinches, that dull ache in his chest returns, “Anything else Sir?”

The words that leave her are full of venom.

His temper flares, hot and blinding in his veins like when a flame hits open air. 

“On your knees.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's going to be a few more chapters. This one shot has spiraled out of control. Help. You are all terrible enablers, I hope you know that. Also I tried to tie a bit more "canon" into this AU. I did take liberties with a few things and tweak them around. This are about to hurt so just brace yourself. All mistakes are my own and thank you for reading. (also, I need to stop writing at 4am.)


	4. Chapter 4

The sharp sound of his voice cuts deep and Riza has to take a moment to compose herself before sinking slowly to her knees. What should have been a smooth action has turned clumsy. She crashes to the floor, pain jolting up from her kneecaps as she drops down on to the hard linoleum floor. She resists the urge to put her palms onto the floor to alleviate the pressure of her weight. Instead she keeps her back straight, head forward and hands calmly pressing over her thighs. Excitement skirts along her skin followed by a tinge of anger. She’s angry with the man standing over her. She moves her hands up and pulls her hair up. She is careful with it, folding it up and twisting it behind her, pinning it in place without a single glance to a mirror.

In all their years together he has never raised his voice in the private comfort of her home or his home. The last time he had raised his voice had been on a mission when gunfire had rained down, catching her and the rest of the crew in a crossfire. Never at home though, never behind closed doors had he raised his voice in a way that demanded compliance. He had always told her she had a choice, now Riza wasn’t so sure that was the case. She slowed her breathing, calmed herself with five deep breaths, focusing dead ahead on her clean hallway. Hayate’s tail thumped in the distance of the living room, he was no doubt hiding in his bed from the shout that had echoed in her kitchen. Roy stepped around her. His boots were perfectly laced, his pants had perfect creases in them as well, he was only partially dressed in his uniform. His white shirt was still unbuttoned and his hair was still a mess. Even so she didn’t look up at him. She simply dropped her fingers from her hair and pressed her lips together in a tight line.

She kept her stare dead ahead, waiting for the next order. Waiting for him to apologize to her for being such a fool. Their relationship in the military was more important to her than the tattoos on their skin. More so than the compliant and dominant that they were. She felt his hand move to the clip holding her hair, he was gentle with his fingers, turning her head upwards. Now she looked up at him with her lips pressed into a thin line and fire flashing in her eyes. Compliant or not, Berthold Hawkeye had taught her to never relent, never back down if she didn’t have to and right now, she didn’t have to. Not to him, not to the military, not to anyone at all if she wished. 

Roy’s lips turned down into a frown and he let his fingers slip from her hair to her cheek. His thumb brushed under her eye, sweeping away a fallen lash. He was always so gentle with her. His calloused hands were always so endearing, even after a pinch or slap to her lower region, he would always run his palm over the expanse of wounded skin and apologize with soft presses of his lips. For a dominant, she seemed to have him trained in the needs of compliants, except now he feels he’s touched the boundary one too many times. 

“I want you to kneel until you change your mind.” His voice is soft yet commanding. He doesn’t raise his voice anymore than normal speaking tone, a soft bob of his throat shows her he’s holding back. He swallows hard and strokes his hand down the edge of her jaw, he stoops over low pressing his mouth to hers before gently smoothing his palm down her cheek. 

“It’s not going to change Colonel.” Her voice is sharp, deadpanning against his mouth. She does not give in, does not bow to him or his words. He presses in like he can make it all go away with a kiss. Her lips are warm and she tastes like bittersweet coffee. A quiet hum leaves her lips and he lets his tongue tap along hers. It’s a slow kiss that makes her eyes flutter shut as he lets his fingers move back up, framing her face. He holds onto her like she’s the last shred of his humanity. Then before she can even relish in the taste of his lingering toothpaste, he pulls back and smooths a scorched thumb across her bottom lip as if wiping away all trace of himself. 

“Do you still feel like kneeling?” He asks her softly, his nose skating across her forehead where he kisses the crown of her head. 

Riza steels herself and nods, “I have not changed my mind. I won’t.”

The muscle in his jaw ticks with annoyance, “Then you’ll take the day off and kneel. That is an order.” 

He leaves her in the kitchen. He leaves her kneeling after filling Hayate’s food and water bowl. He locked the door on his way out all but slamming it shut, leaving her behind in the silence of her thoughts. Riza took the day off but did not continue to kneel, lost in the lingering scent of breakfast and the feel of his mouth on hers. She planted her hands down on the ground and pushed herself up. He couldn’t get far in the military without her. Someone would drive a knife in his back, a soldier would put a bullet in his head -- or worse, he would try to fight in the rain where his flames were useless as paper boats in a river. Without her, Roy Mustang would be nothing more than a hot-headed dominant. He would get far, but not to the top without her. Her father had told her that and Riza still believed it. She still believed in the cause of justice. If he made her kneel a thousand days, she would do it just to continue to serve beside of him as an equal not as a the compliant, but she wouldn’t do it with his anger. She wouldn’t let his temper define the lines and bounds of their relationship.

She stands up tall, stretching her legs out, ignoring the faint sensation of pins and needles along her knees and finishes her morning routine. The order he gave her is one she has decided to disregard.

**\-----**

He does the paperwork in silence, filling out the necessary forms. He wants her removed from ‘routine maintenance’ program. It’s not unheard of, several compliants are able to function fine without it. Most have found their soul-mates through the tattooes, but others have no need for the program. He goes to signing over the necessary documents to prove she’s stable without the heavy abuse that comes from the doctors. It’s a step in the right direction of taking better care of not only her but him as well. Roy is so deep in his contracts he almost doesn’t hear the door open. Then it slams shut and he glances up, the woman is in his office. She’s not kneeling, she’s staring dead ahead at him with a certain confidence about her, stubborn lips set into a knowing smile. She simply waves her hand towards the other subordinates and moves to her desk, stripping off her jacket and dropping it behind her chair.

“Apologies for being late, I had just a terrible pain in my knees this morning.” She cuts her gaze to Roy and then goes to work. She gives him the cold shoulder, freezing him out and he deserves every bit of it. 

He sat in guilt, fingers tapping on the desk, pen tight in his right hand as he slowly began to tick off everything he had done wrong to the woman who matched him. She still sat quietly opposite him, back to work. Her pen scraped over the paper and he felt every stroke of it. Riza matched him in everything, toe to toe they stood with strong backs and even stronger wills. Only she was compliant where he was dominant and that's where all likenesses between them faded away. Still he had done more harm than good and he knew it. 

His temper getting the better of him. 

He should let her cane him for the words that had come over him today. She gives him the cold shoulder in the office, purposely walking away from him, ignoring his pleasantries and then some. 

He works until the clock on the wall chimes, reminding him that the day is over. He’s wasted the work day, bent over paperwork to get a subordinate out of regulated medical care. The subordinates under his command are gone by the time he stretches at his desk. Roy’s signature is scratched across the bottom of the important form and he folds it up, marking it with a stamp for the Fuhrer. If he can get her out of the routine maintenance then maybe he could find a loophole, something that lets him take care of her needs without showing the tattoos. If anyone finds out then she’ll be taken from him and if he keeps pushing on her, she’ll remove herself from him. He knows this and it makes his fingers on the envelope tighten even more as she stands at the end of the work-day, stretching. She shrugs her coat back on and he wishes her to have a good afternoon, she ignores him, laughing with the others as they head their separate ways home. 

He takes the letter to the mailroom to be delivered in the morning. He hopes his request will be granted, hopes she will have a free pass to carry one without medical assistance. He leaves the base and drives in the direction of her home, catching her fleeting figure as she walks Hayate down the sidewalk. Her blonde hair is unpinned now as she unhooks Hayate’s leash and leads him back into her home. He parks his car adjacent to the house like always, leaving it locked and finds himself on her welcome mat, spare key in hand -- only he doesn’t use it. He lets his fingers curl around the spare key in a fist and knocks. He knocks like a guest, instead of using his key like he’s always allowed himself. 

Hayate barks for a moment, but then he hears her quiet him from behind the door. A minute ticks by and then there's the sound of the lock tumbling and she’s standing in the cracked doorway, looking up at him with those sharp brown eyes again.

“Can I come in?” Roy asks softly, he doesn’t command right now. Instead he keeps his hands at his side and head down.

Riza pulls the door open a little more and stares up at him long and hard before opening the door further, stepping aside to let him in. He slips inside of her home and follows her down the hallway and takes his jacket off as he goes, hanging it next to hers on the coat rack. She’s waiting for him in the kitchen when he comes through, he leans back against the door frame and clears his throat.

“Lieutenant,” Her rank leaves his lips easily, and she sighs softly shaking her blonde head to him as if he’s already starting off on the wrong foot.

“I’m sorry Sir, did you want me on my knees for an apology?” Her sarcasm isn’t lost on him. Her voice is sharp and relentless. He holds up a hand up as if to apologize. 

“Up,” He tells her, “Please, stay up. Always up.” 

The look on her face tells him he’s overstepped too far. When did he become her father in all of this? When did he allow himself to be cruel to her? The questions begin to stack up one right after another. He had always prided himself in giving her an out option, of letting her make the choice. Yet this morning he was the one making the choice for her, he was no better than the medical professionals that beat them monthly. He had seen the pain on her face the moment he had told her to kneel for the day.

“We need to set new boundaries Sir,” She crosses her arms under her chest and keeps her head up. The tension in the room is thick and he knows she is serious when she steps towards him. He pushed away from the door frame and moved for her as if to meet her halfway, prove to her he could compromise. When the woman reaches him, she reaches up and presses her palm to his cheek. His jaw is smooth and sharp under her callouses as she draws her fingers down to his chin as if admiring a work of art in a museum. 

“Boundaries, Lieutenant. Any you want.” He speaks as she draws her fingers lower, pads of her fingers pressing into the soft skin just above his Adam's apple just before he gives her an involuntary swallow. The muscles in his throat distract her for just a moment before the word leaves her lips.

“Would you kneel?” 

The question leaves her and he doesn’t even answer her her. He drops to his knees on the hard kitchen tile. A wince passes over his face at the impact but he keeps his head up for her. 

“I can kneel. However long you want. Minutes, hours, days...” He whispers the words softly, voice slightly cracking under the weight of the tension between them. Roy Mustang is a sight to be seen. The ever dominant Colonel is kneeling at her feet, looking lost and broken.The dominant is kneeling to the submissive woman, begging her with his eyes. He’s asking her for permission, he’s asking her for something more than just sex and she closes her eyes because the sight of him is something she doesn’t need right now. She pulls herself together, nerves and all, tightens her fingers into fists. Riza doesn’t need a gun to be dangerous. She can fight with the best of them, but with him, she can simply shake her head and he is ruined.

“No,” She breathes out and his head drops down to her pant leg and out of habit, he draws a hand up and draws a line up her muscled calf. He presses his forehead there, kneeling still on the ground, “You’re not to touch me until I say so.” 

It’s an order and he lets go of her. His hands slip away and fall to the tile floor next to his knees. He turns his dark head up and she leans over. Her palm smooths back his dark hair and she lets her fingers card through it slowly. He parts his lips to talk but she shushes him again like before. Her fingers press over his lips and he blows out a soft huff from his nose. He is already kneeling, pent up energy skating along his nerves but he will kneel as long as she asks because he wants to earn everything he’s lost with her. 

“Go home Colonel.” She whispers the words softly, watching him with dark eyes like she’s waiting on him to object and defy her. He doesn’t though. He nods and she pets his cheek with her knuckles softly dragging them down the edge of his cheek to his jaw, “That’s an order.”

He thinks for a moment that she is going to strike him. She never lifts her hand but he feels that dull ache in his chest become something sharp and painful. She doesn’t have to strike him to wound him. She’s rejecting him. Rejecting his state of power over her, reminding him that she is not a mat to step on. She is not bruised knees and broken skin. She is a warm blooded woman with sharp wits and perfect aim. 

“Go home, Roy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this fic was only supposed to be the one chapter and here I am, writing five of them. I want to say thank you to the wonderful people: Em and Katy for supporting me one-thousand-percent on this fic. They have listened to every single whine and worry of mine as well as read every cut scene and given me their input. Seriously this fic wouldn't work without them and they deserve the world on a silver platter for dealing with me. All mistakes are my own and there will be one last chapter and I will move on to other Royai fics.


	5. Chapter 5

He leaves. The ever dominant Roy Mustang leaves when she tells him to. Her words are so final and sharp. They cut through his chest plate and a dull pain echoes in against his rib cage as he stands outside of her door. His boots leave light impressions on her welcome mat and he stands for a few seconds more before stepping down and away like she ordered. Roy leaves her in peace, dark head low and footsteps heavy. He drags himself to his car and leans on it until he’s certain he can stand on his own without the world spinning out from under him. Gravity feels non existent as he slides inside, his breathing shallows, and his grip on the steering wheel makes his knuckles go bloodless. 

He’s apologized and she’s rejected him or rather his apology. The Flame Alchemist draws his head back in the driver’s seat and closes his eyes. The temporary darkness brings him a little comfort. He sucks in a deep breath and steadies himself, blowing out the exhale and counting to ten. His stomach is still in knots and he can still feel her warm calloused fingers against his jaw. He can still feel the faint sensation of her knuckles ghosting along his cheek. 

Her words echo in his ears and he jerks his head upright. The city is still awake and buzzing, he can see the streetlights flickering on for the night and decides he needs to move. Lingering in the shadow of her home will do him no good. Roy puts the car in gear and pulls carefully away from the curb and into the steady stream of traffic. 

\---

Riza is first in the office in the early hours of the morning. There’s coffee on his desk, papers ready to sign and silence to greet him. She doesn’t smile at him when he catches her warm gaze, instead she cuts their moment short and drops her line of sight. They don’t talk for the first week outside of the usual work orders. She drops off paperwork and tells him updates of the latest rebel attacks on the outskirts of the city, and any other pressing news he needs. However, their conversations never seem to go further. 

She does not invite him back to her home for a week. 

On the eighth day, he brings her flowers-- lays them on her desk and even sneaks out the back to come in after her. The flowers are expensive and beautiful, tied with a thick violet colored ribbon. Riza picks them up, plays with the sharp edges of the leaves before leading them to her nose. After a deep inhale of fresh flowers she sets them aside. When he comes back around he asks about the delicate bouquet to which she replies she has no vase, and gives them to Jean to share with his significant other. 

\---

Roy receives a thick padded envelope in the daily mail call after two weeks. His thumb runs over the edge of the wax seal, picking at the red with the tip of his thumb before smoothing the pad of his scorched finger over it. He’s feeling the faint imprint of the Fuhrer’s office when she walks into the office with a paper in hand. He knows exactly what that paper is.

Carefully, he drops the thick envelope into his lap and sits up on the desk, digging his elbows into the wood as she clears her throat to approach with her head held high. She walks through the office, though the cuts of raw sunlight that forces its way through the blinds. 

“Lieutenant,” He greets her keeping his voice neutral. He still drags his gaze from the crown of her golden head to her pretty face, down to the perfect seams of her military uniform. She is never untucked or out of order, she is a perfect compliant soldier and it makes his heart race. Roy folds his hands in front of his face to hide the faint smile as his thoughts go back to the many mornings he spent with her, dressing her in those military blues. 

“Colonel,” She stops, salutes like always and he acknowledges her with a bow of his dark head. She extends her hand with the familiar piece of paper in it, “Your signature is needed for this month, Sir.” 

He lets his strong facade drop for a moment. They’re alone in his office and he wants to apologize again, get on his hands and knees and ask her to forgive him. Tell her that his bed is worse than hers, that he misses the cool sensation of her body pressed into his that always seems to run hot. He doesn’t though, he keeps his composure as he pulls the paper out of her hand. It’s another routine maintenance call of action. Her name is printed perfectly atop of the form along with the date for her appearance. Roy tears his gaze from the paper to glance at the calendar. Her maintenance is scheduled before they leave for another tour in six days. 

“Thank you Lieutenant,” He nods and she tilts her head to him for a moment, confusion clouding her brown eyes. He decides to indulge the woman, “Yes Lieutenant?” 

“Excuse me Sir, but aren’t you going to sign it?” She keeps her perfect posture, taking another step towards his desk. The edges of her jacket sweep across the top of it and he draws his gaze up from the ends of her jacket to her face, answering her honestly.

“No.” 

Riza’s mouth drops open as she gathers her bearings, “W-What? No? Sir, you have to sign it so I can be cleared for duty.” She sounds so matter-of-factly, her voice barely trembling under the strain of his simple answer weighing in on her job security. 

“I am aware Lieutenant.” He sits back in his seat, hands going to his lap as he pulls the thick envelope up once more. 

“But sir,” She interjects as he cuts the seal with his thumb, unfolding the paper at a slow pace. She seems urgent in the way she stands, hands trembling just before she lays them on his desk as if to hold herself up. He glances through the thick type of the Fuhrer’s paper, all the way down to the signature across the bottom. It’s elegant and freeing all in one fatal stroke of a pen. Roy feels pride burn low in his chest like a fire beginning to rise from smothered embers. 

 

“But, nothing Lieutenant. There’s no need to sign it.” He tells her with an even tone and his fingers tighten on the letter for a moment. The paper in his hand calls for her dismissal of routine maintenance;l but leaves her open for a permanent solution that he can only hope will be himself. He’ll stay away for as long as she needs, loving her was never an order anyways. Before Riza can counter him again he simply folds the letter down and meets her gaze, “Please, trust me. Trust me and believe me when I say things are changing.” 

Riza finally closes her mouth and Roy watches her swallow hard before nodding to him, “Sir, I-” She starts but he shakes his head.

“I understand,” He tells her quietly, “When you’re ready we will discuss.” 

The golden haired goddess before him nods once more to him and slowly lifts her hands off of his desk. She adjusts the buttons on her jacket, keeping herself perfectly composed. The letter in his hands feels like a brick, it’s heavy and weighing in on him. He wants to give her the news now, but things like this take time. She still needs time to heal, still needs time to forgive him. She leaves his office and he tucks the letter inside of his pocket. 

\---

They leave for a tour in four days.

Routine maintenance draws closer, putting his Lieutenant on edge. 

He does all the work she gives him without complaint, never once asking for her to take on any of his burden.

Instead he does more than what is asked of him. 

By the end of the day, he whispers another apology as she helps him slide on his jacket to leave. Her hands linger on the lapels and she catches his gaze with her lips turning up into the softest of smiles. With the softest of tugs, she pulls on his jacket and leans up in the privacy of the coat closet. 

“Come over tonight.” He doesn’t know if this is an order or request. Either way he won’t deny her. 

He doesn’t touch her. She touches his jacket in such a careful way, like he’s an unstable chemical ready to explode, ready to damage her all over again. Guilt floods his belly, he’s drowning in second guesses and foolish decisions. His guilt doesn’t seem to affect her in the confines of the coat closet. 

She’s wound up and full of energy, unable to have any sort of release. Her thumb goes back and forth over his jacket lapel and he lets her drag her nail down the crease, over the edge of the shining gold button before pulling back from him. She takes a step back and he almost moves grab a hold of her, pull her back into his chest but stops as the doorknob turns and Havoc files in for his own coat. They all go their separate ways home. Roy takes the long way, down winding back roads, watching as what little vegetation is left in the city starts to turn yellow, orange, and red. The summer days are getting shorter, nights are cooling down, but nothing cools him quite like Riza does when she slides between the sheets with him. She stays cool with her ice cold feet pressing between his legs, his body is a constant inferno. 

\---

 

Riza walks Hayate and then walks the length of her house. She goes back and forth in a pacing manner. The tip of her thumbnail is nearly bitten down to her skin. Her nerves are all on edge, a speech is prepared in her head, all the words she wants to say to him. She wants guidelines. 

She wants a new set of rules. She needs him to sign those papers. All the pent up energy has nowhere to go, she has no release, no outlet for the compliant nature that is woven into her genetics. Her socks scuff across the floor and Hayate watches as she walks the length of the house once more, burying his dark nose into his dog bed to find his favorite toy to chew on. He finds his favorite stuffed duck and goes to work tearing out the stuffing that Riza will eventually sew back together for him to tear apart all over again. He growls softly into the fur of the stuffed duck when a knock sounds at the door. He barks once and stops when his mistress snaps her fingers. Like a good dog, he simply lowers his head back to the toy and chew away the fabric. 

There’s a familiar shadow standing in her doorway and Riza hesitates, fingers on the brass knob as she watches the shadow shift before the frosted glass. Her fingers slide along the metal knob and twisted it carefully, drawing the door open just an inch. Roy’s body takes up most of the door and he keeps his dark head bowed for her while she undoes the chain over the door and lets him in. The moment the door closes his hands move for her, they’re gloveless despite the chilly autumn air and before they reach her he stops himself. The sudden move has her back against the wall, avoiding him. Her brown eyes are wide, brows pulled high, but she doesn’t exclaim his name just yet. She simply presses her back into the wall, putting a small amount of distance between them. 

His fingers hover close to the edge of her cheeks but he doesn’t touch her just yet. He is mere centimeters from stroking her cheeks but she ordered him before to not touch her. Frustration bubbles up under his skin but he pushes it aside because this is what she wants. He presses his palms against the wall behind her, trapping her in the cage of his arms. 

“Riza,” He breathes out her name with a strained whisper, watching as she swallows hard under him. Her eyes are dark and endless, inviting him to drown in her, and oh does he want to. He wants to press his lips to hers and drown in the feel of her against him. He wants to take on the endless depths of her soul with her legs wrapped around his waist, dragging him down below the surface of the military regimen. 

“You listened.” It’s a statement that makes his heart skip a beat. He listened like a good compliant would, but Roy Mustang is not a compliant. He is a natural dominant, but like everything in nature, he must evolve to survive -- to keep what he wants, to keep a life here with her. 

He nods, fingers spanning out against the wall like he’s itching to break the vow and touch her, “I don’t think you understand how much I need you.” He tears his gaze from her porcelain face and looks at the strip of skin exposed between the sleeve of his jacket and his wrist. The edge of his tattoo peeks through and he feels his heart stutter around in his chest. Riza Hawkeye is his other half, she is made of iron and brass, gunpowder and lead all things that are combustible under heat and pressure. She is also stronger than he will ever be. Compliant genetics or not, she is iron willed and stubborn, but he knows she’ll never stop pushing him to the top, even if their game ends now. Even if they end the tattoos between them, choose to burn it off, he knows deep down that she will push him to the top, “Forgive me please. A thousand times, forgive me.” 

Roy drops his dark head, black hair obscuring his perfect vision of her. He lowers his head, sign of compliance. If he were a dog he would drop to his knees and expose his throat, giving up the dominance over her, letting her free. With his head down, he’s ready for her to tell him goodbye -- ready for her to end it all. His lungs burn as he holds his breath and then a cool calloused finger brushes the slope of his cheek. Her nail lightly drags down the side of his face, over the faint shadow that will make for a promising five o’clock shadow. Riza draws her finger further down to the underside of his chin and she tilts his head up. She forces him to look at her. His dominant side willing him to keep the control. 

Compliants need release, but so do dominants in different methods. He has to have a regimen, a controlled environment to keep his frustration down. He knows this and Riza knows this, it’s what made them work so well together both in and out of the office. However, he will defy everything to keep her in his life. He will give up control. Her finger holds his head steady and he lets his fingers slip down the wall a bit, closer to her. 

“I want new guidelines.” He stops as she speaks to him, confident and unwavering. Riza keeps her chin high, lips tight -- she oozes a confidence he hasn’t seen outside of the battlefield. 

“New guidelines?” He repeats her question only to see her nod. Her finger under his chin presses into the soft bit of skin just between his jaw and adam’s apple. 

“We need new rules Roy. You know that and I know it.” Her voice is still strong and he watches her tongue dart over her bottom lip before she carries on. He listens and hangs himself from every word that tumbles free. “-- I am not a tool for you to hold your frustration over. I make my own choices. Do you understand?” 

It’s almost like she’s scolding a child, but he hears the truth, clear as bells. He held his own personal frustrations over her, made her kneel just because she didn’t agree with him. Roy closes his eyes and she pushes her finger up a bit, a silent demand he look at her.

So he does. He opens his eyes and stares at her, unabashedly taking in all of her beauty, “I am sorry,” He apologizes for a hundredth time, he will apologize a hundred more and drop to his knees if she uttered the words. She doesn’t though, instead she keeps holding his gaze waiting on him to answer her. He gives her everything she wants, because it’s everything he wants. His tattoo matches hers, they are bound by forces that are not quite tangible. He doesn’t want to lose the power between them, so he lowers his gaze to the edge of her mouth tracing the pink line of it, “I understand. Guidelines need to be established. New boundaries, anything you need.” 

Those pink lips of hers curve up and he swears it’s the most beautiful smile he’s ever witnessed. She let’s her finger drop away from his chin and it falls to the front of his jacket, lingering on his medals for a moment before falling away. Riza stays commanding, pushing away from the wall and stepping up in the space between them. If they were in their old routine, she would be kissed by now -- she would be gasping against that wall as he sank to his knees and drug those uniform bottoms down. He doesn’t though, she asked for new guidelines and he would not touch her until they agreed. 

She remains a breath away, softly conquering his space as she exhales all the tension from her shoulders. He watches her muscles relax and then she begins her terms and conditions. 

“I am not for you to take your frustrations out on.” 

“Agreed.” He doesn’t hesitate with her, she is not his whipping post. 

Riza’s lips twitch up, she wants to smile again but instead she moves on to her next point. She tells him that she wants to stay in the military. It’s her job, her ethic -- she loves it all. He hears the passion in her words, the dedication she has for him, for the both of them. 

“You can stay until you choose otherwise.” Roy amends his words, he wants to lean in now and seal the deal. He wants to stroke the black edges of her tattoo on the inside of her thigh.   
“No caning, no kneeling,” She ticks them off carefully, “no visible marks.” 

He wants to make a joke about feeling like a teenager again, marking her throat with a dark red hickey, but he refrains his boyish charms, nodding his dark head, “These are all worth keeping.” He is willing to use every ounce of alchemy in his body to give her the moon if she asked for it. Though Roy can live with the boundaries she places, because they make her comfortable. When Riza is happy and comfortable, his back is safe and he can relax in the hold of her arms -- she makes him happy. 

“Good now,” She slips away from him, ducks under his arm that is still braced on her wall. She pads down the hallway of her home towards the kitchen. He holds himself against the wall for a moment before he slowly pushes himself away, following in her footsteps. She has stripped off her jacket and set it on the back of the kitchen chair and stands in front of the stove, putting on the kettle. “I have one last boundary.” 

“I believe I told you anything Lieutenant.” He leans on the back of the empty chair watching her in domestic bliss as she moves around her kitchen, hunting tea bags. 

“Then you’re going to have to sign the paperwork, Colonel.” She pauses in the cabinet, pulling out an aluminum canister filled with tea leaves, “You and I both know that I need that on some level. I need the release just as much as any compliant.” Her voice is a soft whisper that crawls over his skin and he feels a rush of ice down his spine at her words.

“No,” He answers her quietly, “I can’t do that to you Riza.”

The aluminum canister snaps shut and she turns to face him, back pressing into the countertop. There is fury burning in her eyes, “Roy, we both know I need it.”

She uses his name and he winces before shaking his head, “Hear me out,” he lets go of the chair and takes a step for her but she holds out a hand and he instantly stops in his tracks, “Riza they do more harm than good. You know that. They're cruel! They don't work for you, they don't care for you. What if next time they scar you?”

His voice is raised but strained, desperate almost for her to hear his plea. She all but loses the canister in her hand, “I am scarred!”

Her shout cuts right through him. He’s always wondered if she loathed him for ridding her of the tattoo on her back with the flame of her father’s work. All those scars were still there, faded pink and raised skin that he often traced while in the contentment of the bedroom but now, now he wonders how much resentment she holds over him for the act of privacy. His knees feel weak, his lungs feel like they're full of water, his head swims watching her smile fade into a deep frown, “Riza,” he says her name so quietly now just as the kettle whistles. 

“No, I need them signed to keep active duty.”

He fumbles for the words to quell the anger burning in the air between them. Her fingers are formed in fists, shaking under the truth she threw so easily in his face. He wants to tell her the big secret of the letter weighing down his pocket. Roy reaches for it and draws it out of his jacket, “Before you ask me again. Please, read this. Then we will talk about some more boundaries.” 

The tea kettle whistles louder now, piercing the silence between them and reminding her to focus elsewhere. She wraps a rag around the handle of the kettle and moves it off of the burner before leaving it untouched. Instead of focusing on her tea, she goes for the letter -- snatching it up off of the table like he’s predator using it as bait for helpless prey. Her thumb nail drags over the broken seal and he takes the moment to back away from her, going back to attend to the tea she left behind. Her brown gaze slips over the expensive paper, down the strikes of the typewriter, absorbing in the words of a dismissal. Roy watches as her fingers shake, knuckles turning white as her grip on the paper tightens and it threatens to tear. 

Riza gaze goes unfocused as she follows the looping letters of the Fuhrer’s very real signature, approving the dismissal of her military compliant maintenance. Her brows knit together and suddenly the world doesn’t seem to make sense to her as she moves for the table, falling into one of the chairs. The chair squeaks under her sudden weight and then she reads the paper once more. Roy pours the boiling water over the tea bags in each mug, allowing them to steep, soaking in the silence of the kitchen before he glances over his shoulder to her. Her lips are parted and she’s mouthing along the words as she reads further and further down the paper. 

“If you want of course.” Roy speaks into the silence and his words knock her off guard, leaving her defenseless as she leans on the table for support, letter still in hand.

“Roy,” She breathes out his name carefully, “You don’t have to do this.” 

“It is only if you want. I reported that you have an active dominant in your life. You will only have to submit to a physical every six months to ensure the dominant is doing their job.” He barely speaks above a whisper as he sheds his jacket, laying it on the back of the chair atop of her own. He pulls up the sleeve of his white shirt and exposes the tattoo to her as if he’s trying to remind her that he will not take on the responsibility just to abandon her. She draws her gaze back to the letter, “This is your decision. Everything is your decision. If you want me.” 

Her lips tick up for a moment as if she wants to smile at his last words. 

_If you want me._

“--And if I don’t want you?” She asks softly laying the letter down on the table top, folding her arms under her chest as she seems to be regaining her composure. 

“Then I will respect your decision and will decline the dismissal for you. I will also ask that you stay on my team, but if you wish to leave well,” He clears away the tickle in his throat, “I will let you leave.” 

She softens at his words with her shoulders sinking and lashes lowering. The silence in the kitchen seems to go on for minutes, even hours as she lays the paper down and smooths her palm over the dried ink, freeing her from the repulsive but efficient routine maintenance. 

“You said there were more boundaries.” She says with her strong voice returning. 

“Yes, from now on I will not order you. Simply request. If you keep the dismissal, I will only request, never order.” He moves for the table, moves in the direction of her chair. She doesn’t back up this time. Simply allows him to sidle up next to her. Riza keeps his gaze until he drops to the floor, hard on his knees. He puts his hands on the legs of the chair, not quite touching her, but if he wanted to he could reach forward and stroke the fabric of her pant leg. 

“I also ask that you tell me when you need me. Boundaries are set to keep us both safe, but I can not have you fit for duty if you need me and do not tell me.” He licks over his lips, trying to find the rest of his strength, dragging it up from the dredges of his pride. He is not a man quick to apologize, dominants in the military are unforgiving, but Riza shares this life with him. She shares the same tattoo, she shares so much of herself with him that he must even out the balancing act between them. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, I just want to know if you ever can?” He questions, tilting his head back to marvel at her like a peasant would to a queen. 

 

Silence remains in the kitchen, the tea is long forgotten and Roy’s knees are in pain. He feels guilt for ever making her kneel on the tile floor. Her chair scrapes against the floor as she shifts to face him, “Stand up.” She is commanding in her words.

He jerks up, knees protesting under the sudden weight but he manages to stand. Riza is much more graceful than him as she stands up a whole head shorter than him. He swallows hard just as she parts her lips again. He finds his pulse quickening under his skin along with the sensation of electricity running across the edges of his nerves. 

“My belt,” She doesn’t glance down, she keeps his gaze despite the slight height difference between them, “Take it off.” 

Roy Mustang is not a slow learner. He lets her orders wash over him, moves his burned fingers for the edge of her belt. The clinking sound of her buckle coming undone and hitting the floor is all that fills the room. 

Riza Hawkeye is a compliant with a strong spirit and she uncrosses her arms just to hold them up, “My shirt, take it off.” 

His breath catches and she watches as his fingers twitch, hesitating before he lets his fingers graze the edge of her dark turtleneck. He intentionally brushes a knuckle against the flesh that becomes exposed as he grips on the hem and pulls it upwards, slow and steady. He peels away the shirt, exposing her to the world and drinking in the sight of pale skin and well worn muscles. Roy lets a finger graze her skin once more and he watches as her stomach muscles twitch, jumping at the excitement before she catches a hold of his wrist, “I did not say you could touch me.”

“Yes,” He agrees quickly, too quick -- like he’s a teenage boy all over again. He clears his throat, a low growl following before he turns his hand over in hers. She looks down between them and draws her fingers over his tattoo. 

They match in spirit, they match in ink. He hopes she only feels the same pull he feels around her. 

Her palm covers the tattoo and grips a hold of his forearm and yanks him in close. His mouth is just a breath away and he fights every dominant urge to claim her mouth. Instead he finds himself pleading with her, “Riza, could I kiss you?” 

New rules, new boundaries are in place -- she smiles and barely gets out the soft ‘yes’ before he crashes into her. He tries to be gentle, but it’s hard when he’s been starved of her. Her mouth fits perfectly against his and he draws his hands up to her face. His palms cup her cheeks and then he slips his fingers into her hair, undoing the clip, letting loose the golden waves as his mouth claims hers. His lips part and she is first to nip at him, teeth tugging gently on his bottom lip in a small rebellion that stokes a fire in his belly. Roy licks over her bottom lip and then he gets a taste of her. He kisses her until they’re both breathless and her pale cheeks are flushed a soft shade of pink. 

“Pick me up.” She orders him between soft pants. He circles his arms around her middle and he lifts her up with little effort. Riza is light compared to what he can lift and then her legs link around his hips and he marvels in the way they were meant for one another. They fit like broken puzzle pieces, pulled together by the universe with genetics and tattoos, her skin is soft under his grasp and he wishes now she would have asked for him to undo her pants. His hands slip over the curve of her rear and he squeezes the muscles there just to make her lips part over his once more. 

“I could get used to this,” Riza’s voice is soft against his mouth, her lips touch his when she speaks and he loves the feeling of her against him again. He never wants to part again. Military fraternization laws or not, he’s a desperate man in love. They will work on the laws next, but for now he is focused on her. She presses her nose over his playfully, “I could get used to making all the orders.” 

“I will comply to every order.” He growls softly against her lips as she rolls her hips into his. His eyes threaten to roll into the back of his head as she presses in again. Her tongue darts over his lower lip and he catches her in another kiss. 

“Bedroom, take me to the bedroom. Then get rid of this uniform.” 

 

\---

The trip to the bedroom took longer than it should have. Riza had distracted him with her clever lips drawing over his earlobe, nipping at the sensitive skin there before finding the pulse point in his neck. He almost dropped her at the first bite of sharp teeth into his throat and then almost pushed her into the wall when her tongue ran over the point to grind into her. He managed to stay on course. 

She sat on the edge of the bed in a black bra with her uniform pants partially undone, down her hips, looking ethereal as she lays back on her elbows. He doesn’t get to enjoy the sight of her just yet. He’s still following orders, stripping himself of his uniform with clumsy arms and legs. He nearly trips over his pant legs as he kicks them off, thumbs hooking into the elastic band of his boxers. 

“Stop.” She orders him softly, her own breathing is starting to pick up and he wonders how much longer they would have made it before mending the bridge between them. 

He halts his movements, standing near the foot of her bed, thumbs inching down the thin fabric of navy blue boxers with red little x’s and o’s printed across them. Stopping is hard, but he manages to. The boxers hang low on his hips, showing off a muscle shaped v across his hips. Riza licks her lips and he is prays to every possible God out there that she keeps looking at him the way she is now. 

“Remove my pants, kneel while you do it.” Her voice wavers now. Before she was a little stronger, more confident but she’s slowly unraveling as he stalks forward, eyes on her own hips. He drags his calloused fingers over the teeth of the zipper and kneels on the floor. His knees ache for a moment, but he pushes the feeling aside, settling himself between her knees, leaning up as far as he can to take the zipper of her pants in his teeth. From there he draws down, slowly letting his fingers crawl up just to hook into the uniform bottoms. He takes an agonizing pace that makes her squirm. 

Inch by inch he exposes her to the room. He lets his mouth follow the trail of the pants. She doesn’t stop him, doesn’t object when he kisses each knee. She doesn’t shove him off when he lets his tongue press over the first loop of the tattoo on the inside of her thigh. Instead, she spreads her legs a little wider and he keeps trailing down. He kisses her calves, and the front of her bruised shins. He pulls the pantlegs off one at a time, setting them aside and pressing chaste kisses to the tops of her feet. He worships her the way she deserves. When the pants are off, he sits back on his knees, watching her with dark eyes. Riza is still up on her elbows, teeth raking over her bottom lip, staring at him with a sort of feral look on that delicate face.

“You stopped…” She swallows down the rest of the words, sweat is starting to bead up at the base of her hairline, trailing down the column of her throat and all he can think about is tracing the trail with the tip of his tongue. 

“I finished my order.” He replies with a sort of finesse about him, “I let you decide Lieutenant. Boundaries are here for a reason.” 

She smiles now. It’s wide and genuine, brightening her face. She looks stunning in black lingerie among crisp white sheets. She spreads her legs a little wider before sliding her knees on either side of his chest. With a squeeze, she locks him in place. 

“I order you to finish what we’ve started.” 

He draws his fingers up the front of her legs and over her kneecaps, devilish smile of his coming back, “I request to help maintenance for our tour in the next few days.” His touch is feather-light, drawing over the front of her thighs now. His actions make her skin prickle and she shivers against the clean sheets. 

“G-granted,” She sucks in a sharp breath as his thumb presses over the center of her underwear, dragging over the wet spot he’s coaxed out of her. He’s a thief, sneaking over the elastic band of her panties and dragging a calloused thumb over her clit with no warning.

“Safe word?” He asks, rubbing over her clit once more as he leans up higher, pulling himself off of the floor, rising over her legs. 

“If I say stop…”

“We stop.” He answers for her and presses a soft kiss to the bit of flesh just above the line of her panties.

She nods and his thumb slips down, running along wet folds and she drops back from her elbows onto the mattress. Her hair is in rivers behind her, tangling up as she arches her hips up against his attention. They’ve been apart for too long, he’s missed the way she twists and turns under his talented fingers. He drags his tongue up from the line of her underwear to her navel. The taste of her is one he’s missed as he draws himself further up the bed, taking his time, dipping fingers between her legs just to hear her sigh. He looms over her, making his way up the dips and curves of her body, mouth descending over a fabric covered nipple. He soaks the front of her bra and her fingers spear through his dark hair, pushing him closer as she arches her back. Despite the urgency in the air, he takes his time. He has to take the time to savor every last bit of her before they are forced to go away from the city and into unsafe territory. He drags himself between the valley of her breasts and leaves a warm kiss there before moving on. Roy’s free hand moves up and grasps a hold of both of her wrists, she complies with him holding both of them down above her head. She lets him press down, holding her in place as he slides a finger inside of her. Riza twists against the sheets and a moan leaves her lips. She’s flushed and panting, sweat shining off of her pale skin. 

Roy slips a second finger between her slick folds and she moans once more, a broken version of his name leaves her lips and his heart skips a beat. He crooks his calloused finger and she nearly shouts, grinding her hips down over his tattooed wrist, urging him on. She’s close to the edge, he knows her body inside and out, knows all her secrets and tells. 

“What if I ordered you to come?” He pants out softly, teeth grazing over the slope of her breast. He nips at the soft skin there before running the flat of his tongue over the red spot. 

“I-I thought you didn’t order me anymore?” She counters him, breathless and beautiful.

“Lieutenant,” He begins pressing a third finger into her, thumb sliding up to her clit once again, “I request you come by my hand.” He speaks against her sternum, holding her wrists still in his other hand, keeping her pinned into the mattress. His words strike her hard and she shudders against him, moan slipping free from her lips as she falls. His name leaves her and he resists the urge to crook his fingers a second time just to see if he can make her say it again. Slowly he pulls his fingers away, sliding them over her underwear, dragging them up her stomach leaving behind a wet trail. He traces up to the valley of her breast and then up to the column of her throat where he runs his tongue over that same trail, tasting her. 

He sucks a kiss onto her neck, careful not to leave a mark then he plants kisses up the curve of her jaw and catches her bottom lip. She grins into the sloppy kiss and he presses his hips over hers in a needy fashion. 

“Roll over.” She commands him softly and he wants to press her wrists into the mattress, remind her who is in charge but, ultimately it is Riza that holds the power. He lets go of her wrists and gives her one final kiss before rolling off of her body, resisting the urge to take her with him as his back hits the cool sheets. Riza moves up on her elbows and then crawls over him, her legs tangling with his for just a moment. She sits along top of him, hips pressing over his own. She intentionally grinds herself over his cock just to hear him let go of a deep moan. Instinctively, his hands move for her hips but she stops him. Her hands circle his and she pushes both of his hands down into the mattress, “Stay.” 

Roy gives her a boyish pout, “I believe I’ve been a good boy. I’m not Hayate you know.”

“Hayate listens better.” 

Roy scoffs and she laughs as she draws her hands away from his wrists and over his chest. He has his own scars and muscles, ones she rarely gets to feel out. When they spend time together she never has the opportunity to have the upper hand. Now everything has changed. She traces the lines of his chest, mapping out the different scars and edges of his body, silently praising her luck for his handsomeness. 

Her hands splay along his stomach and stroke down to the edge of his boxers where she hooks her thumbs over the fabric and drags them down his thighs, freeing him from the tight confines. An involuntary hiss leaves his mouth when she draws her fingers around his cock. She grips him softly then tightens her hand just a little more and he is left gasping as she begins stroking him. He has to hold himself down, will himself not to move as she runs the rough pad of her thumb over the head of his cock. Riza smiles at his undoing, his shallow breaths and twitching fingers. He wants to move, but holds back because she told him to stay still. 

“Cruel,” He murmurs to her as she draws her hand over him again slowing down her actions. 

“I think you’re enjoying it.” She muses, “Sir.” 

He drops his dark head back to the white sheets and says a silent prayer as she rocks her hips against his own and he can feel the heat of her sinking into his skin, threatening to brand him. Roy squeezes his eyes shut and loses himself in the feel of her, taking every stroke to memory for the long tour ahead of them. His breathing shallows and she hums as his words strain; “You’re going to end me.” 

 

“You can’t be done yet.” She is ever playful, rocking over him once more and he curses, drawing his hands down into the sheets, gripping them to stop himself from holding her. 

“Oh I’m not yet, but I will be if you keep this up.” 

“I never get to be on top.” 

“Because I am useless under you.” He tells her the truth, knowing good and well he will come undone under her power. 

“We’ll see about that, Colonel.” She pulls her hand away from him and he almost whines at the loss of her hand. His dark hair is sticking to his forehead, obscuring his vision of her as she slides the edge of her underwear aside. The head of his cock brushes against her and he wants to cry out, she’s still hot and wet from his fingers and in one fatal move she drops her hips over him. He almost loses his breath, the sudden sensation of her wrapped around him as him raising his hips to meet hers. He rocks upwards, determined to make her move again. 

Were this an interrogation, he would spill all his secrets to her. 

Her hands brace themselves on his abdomen, nails lightly scratching over his skin as she uses him for leverage, grinding her hips hard into his own. She lifts her hips only to rock back down against him. It starts slow and then she has a rhythm. It’s one he can’t keep up with, he’s too busy uttering her name like a mantra. He praises every motion of her hips with a soft moan, his knuckles go bloodless against the sheets. 

“You’re not so useless,” She smirks as she raises her hips once more, “You can let go of the bed.” 

By sheer will alone he uncurls his fingers from the sheets and instantly finds her hips. He lifts her up just enough to drive himself upwards, pushing his cock deeper into her. Her golden head falls back and she moans a delicious symphony for him. His fingers threaten to leave bruises but he is careful, draws a hand down and he presses his thumb once again to the bundle of nerves between her legs. Riza’s rhythm falters, her hips moving a little more erratically against his own. 

 

“If we keep this up,” Roy manages to grind out the words from clenched teeth; “I’m not going to…” 

“If you stop--...” She gasps as his thumb starts a slow circle, pressing in on her clit, encouraging her to roll her hips harder into his own. She follows his lead, moving with his pulling as he pushes his knees up behind her, guiding her onto him. The sound of skin on skin fills the room, he’s losing himself in the blinding heat of her and she’s barely able to keep her eyes open as he builds her up in anticipation.

“Threatening me?” 

“Always.”

His grip on her hip tightens and he pulls her down hard, thrusting up into her. Riza shouts out his rank, legs quivering against his own as she falls forward, slumping against his chest. She presses her lips to his chest, then up against the edge of his collarbone. 

Her breathing is ragged and he is so close he could come just from the sight of her alone. She kisses against his collarbone again and he reaches a hand up, thumb pressing over her bottom lip, moaning softly as her tongue swipes over the calloused pad of his finger. He draws her up, kisses her and then rolls them both once more. He presses her down into the mattress, hands mapping out the sides of her body. She is warm and sated beneath him. She lets him climb over her, lets him pull her underwear away. Roy marvels at her tattoo again as if he can not believe his luck -- of all the people to bear the same mark, it was her. 

He traces the circle and climbs forward. He kisses the inside of her thighs, drags his tongue over the sensitive folds for just a taste and then continues moving up the length of her. She wraps her arms around his neck, pulls him in for a long kiss. She can taste herself on his tongue and she lets him push his cock back between her legs, lets him roll his hips into her own. She moans and he swallows it down for her. 

He goes agonizingly slow. 

They pace themselves and savor the moment. Then he picks up the pace, he draws his hips back and thrusts back into her, breaking their kiss, She moans -- over sensitive, too much stimulation has her trembling against his hold, legs wrapped around his waist. She digs her heels into him, urges him on. Roy grasps onto the mattress, bracing himself over her as he loses his momentum, burying himself deep inside and comes shouting her name. 

Fire floods his veins, he collapses atop of her, careful of his weight but she welcomes the bone crushing feel of him on her hips. He stills himself inside of her, buries his face into the crook of her neck and whispers a confession. 

Three little words are branded against her skin and she strokes the back of his head, fingers curling in his sweat slicked hair as she replies to him quietly. Her lips barely move but he can still hear the faint words. They lay together a little longer before he pulls her up from the bed. His arms hold tight as she lays her chin on his shoulder and he carries her into the bathroom. 

\---

 

The water is near scalding when he eases her in.

He joins behind her, knees sticking out on either side of her hips as he draws her back to his chest. Slowly they bathe away the events of the day. He gently washes her hair, fingers slowly untangling the knots he created when they rolled in sheets. She plays with his tattoo -- and a familiar pain twists in his chest as she traces the red slash through the black circle. 

They don’t get to bare their marks for the world just yet, even if they could she would be taken from him. She would be moved out from under his control, put under another dominant that would no doubt make her experience military grade maintenance. 

He strokes his knuckles along the slope of her cheek as she leans back against his chest, wet hair and all. A content sigh escapes her lips and he closes his eyes, soaking in the feel of her, “Riza.” 

“Mm?” 

He shifts a bit against the tub, laying his head back against the porcelain edge and drawing his knees tighter around her, “Do you accept the dismissal?” 

A moment of silence ticks by and he wonders if she has fallen asleep against him in the warm soapy water. Her fingers brush his tattoo once more and he knows she’s awake as she tilts her head back catching him in her peripheral vision. 

“I accept on the grounds that I have a stable dominant and consistent access to release.” Her words are rehearsed, emotionless -- just what she’ll tell the clerks within the office as she files her dismissal. Roy grins and she smiles, hand closing over his wrist as if to remind him they’re bound by a lot more than just paperwork.

“You must have one lucky dominant Lieutenant.” 

She lets go of his wrist and cups a bit of water in her hand before tossing it over her shoulder into his face. He flounders for a moment against her attack, listening to her laugh against him. Her laughter fills the bathroom and he contemplates splashing her back but stops as she lays back against him, “Yes Sir, he is very lucky indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who stuck with me, stuck with this whole fic. I'm so happy you all have kept reading and totally embraced my first go-around with this type of AU. I am happy to end this one.

**Author's Note:**

> You are all going to hell, I'll meet you there. I have ALWAYS wanted to try to do a Soulmates AU then I got the idea for a BDSM-AU and then I just wanted to do it justice and not have some creepy over controlling dominant, and then this fic spawned. I have re-watched FMA all day and this is where I've ended up. Thanks for reading, thanks for giving me the time and I'm sorry (not sorry). All mistakes are my own.


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